


Welcome Distraction

by whatsherquirk



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Age Difference, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Begging, Creampie, Degradation, Edging, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Femdom, I suppose it's comfort if you squint, Leashes, Light Angst, Name-Calling, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Post-Divorce, Power Play, Sort Of, Teasing, he's a sub your honor, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-12
Updated: 2021-02-12
Packaged: 2021-03-18 15:01:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29370465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whatsherquirk/pseuds/whatsherquirk
Summary: Nile Dok is frustrated. He’s lonely, he’s exhausted, and quite frankly, he hasn’t gotten laid in months. Then you arrive to take his mind off it for a while.
Relationships: Nile Dok/Reader
Comments: 6
Kudos: 46





	Welcome Distraction

**Author's Note:**

> This piece was first posted on my tumblr @whats-her-quirk.

_SLAM._

Nile Dok is frustrated. He’s lonely, he’s exhausted, and quite frankly, he hasn’t gotten laid in months. His job is about the only thing in his life that hasn’t been frustrating lately—even the Scouts have been quiet for weeks—and yet he slams his office door shut behind him and drops into his cushy desk chair, head landing in his hands.

He wraps his fist around an ink pen, tapping it against the desk to a steady rhythm that he hopes will calm him. If one more person asks him for one more thing today, he swears—

Three quick knocks rap at the wooden door. Nile grits his teeth. Maybe if he stays quiet, he thinks, they won’t know he’s here and they’ll go away.

The knocking starts again. “Commander Dok, sir? I know you’re in there.” 

He recognizes your voice; you’re one of the young aides that have recently been promoted to his personal staff. Of course you would wait until now to bother him for something, when all he really wants is to be left alone.

He smashes the pen down, cracking the cap, and groans. “What is it?” he huffs, voice laden heavily with annoyance. The door clicks open and as he looks up, dropping his bony chin into his hand, you step halfway inside and salute.

“Commander,” you repeat. Awfully formal for this late in the day, but hearing his title recited so dutifully makes Nile sit a little taller for once.

“I said, what is it?”

You drop your salute, instead placing your hands behind your back and leaning against the heavy wooden door, pushing it until it latches. After rocking back and forth on your toes a few times, you ask, “Is everything all right, sir?”

He can’t help but sigh again. Does he want to talk about it? Not really, but these days, he can’t count many close friends, and maybe it would help to get some of his frustrations off his chest. When you don’t move from your position, he waves restlessly at you. “Relax, soldier. It’s almost after hours anyway.”

Your tone slips into something more casual. At least you can take an order. “You’ve seemed on edge all day, sir. I was just wondering if there was anything I could do for you.”

The earnestness in your eyes wears him down, and he motions for you to sit.

Instead of overstuffed armchairs, Nile opted instead of a tufted chaise lounge on the opposite side of his desk. You perch yourself directly in the center of it. If anyone were to join you, they’d be forced to sit right against your hip.

He leans on his elbows, preparing himself for the task of unloading his burdens on you. “It’s nothing work related. My personal life is a bit of a mess. Not sure you want me to get into it.”

You slide forward on the chaise. “Is it your family?”

He can’t help but smirk at how eager you are. Hell, he could get used to this. “In short, yes—”

“Your wife?”

“Ex-wife.” It’s incredible how your eyes go wide as soon as he says it.

If you had asked him a year ago, he would have guessed he would die in the line of duty before he’d get divorced. But after months of fighting and giving each other the cold shoulder, Marie finally admitted that her doubts about him had grown—doubts that had been there since the very start of their relationship. That had been the worst blow of all. Now he’s pushing forty and single again for the first time in twenty years.

You find your voice again. “Oh, I’m so sorry. You must be—”

“Heartbroken?” he finishes for you. “Stressed? Completely and utterly drained? Yes, all of it.” He realizes he’s taking this out on you, but he’s never had the chance to vent about it out loud before. He’s been spending every night alone, drinking and moping in the one-bedroom apartment he’s renting in the city. At least he gets to see his daughters every other weekend.

Reading the discomfort on your face, he backtracks, softening a bit. “But you don’t have to be sorry about it.”

“Still, I wish there was something I could do.”

Nile drums his fingertips against his desk, appraising you. You’re smart, alert, a good listener who takes orders well. You’re young, a few years out of training but still fresh and ambitious. You’ve probably been alive for about as long as he’s been—was—married. And you’re not bad to look at, he can admit. If he’s being truly honest, any female attention is nice right about now, but if it has to be anyone, he’s glad it’s you.

_“It’s not you, it’s me,”_ was Marie’s song and dance of choice; he wouldn’t be so resentful if only she’d sung it years ago, before they had kids and stretched into middle age. The amount of nights he’s spent sleeplessly since it came out were too many to count, his thoughts consumed by the idea that he was always his wife’s second choice. She only married him because that pretty boy Smith joined the Scouting Regiment. He’d always known it, and she finally proved him right. He harbors no illusions that Smith would change his tune and settle down in the bed he used to share with Marie just because she’s available again, but just the thought stings like shrapnel to the face.

Rising from the chaise, you tut as you move around behind Nile’s chair. Your hands drop to his shoulders, and without warning, you start kneading circles to the back of his neck with your thumbs. It takes all of his self control not to moan at your touch as you dig into the knots in his shoulders caused by constant tension. He settles for slow, heavy exhales through his nose as his muscles relax under your hands, somehow both strong and gentle at the same time.

The longer you massage his shoulders, the more he melts into his chair, arms slumping and head bobbing from side to side so you can press into the nape of his neck. Your hands feel amazing against the sliver of bare skin between his collar and his hair; just _being touched_ _in general_ feels amazing. It’s the only reason he’s allowing this to go further when it really shouldn’t.

It’s why he doesn’t push you away when you lean down, putting your lips close to his ear, and whisper, “Why don’t you let me take your mind off it for a while?” His entire body shivers, and he lets out an embarrassing groan that makes him glad you shut the door. You, young and lithe and beautiful, want to fool around with him? It’s too good to be true.

He can hardly believe you don’t slap him when he turns his head and kisses you on the mouth. But when you pull away, you’re smiling. He clears his throat. “It would be a welcome distraction.”

You laugh, low and seductive, as you curl your fingers under the cords of his bolo. He gulps in anticipation as he lets you pull him from his chair, chin lifted as you hold him up by his tie. He stands at an average height, something he’s always been self-conscious about, especially when standing next to that blonde giant Smith, but right now, it puts him in the perfect position for you to reach with your mouth. Your lips kiss softly over his exposed neck at first, making him gasp and shiver, but slowly you add more pressure, sucking harder so the blood vessels pop and reddish-purple bruises bloom over the delicate skin. He’ll have a hell of a time hiding them tomorrow, but right now, he doesn’t care.

Nile can hardly keep his eyes open as you nibble at his neck, and it takes a few moments before he notices that you’re walking backwards around his desk and his feet are following you. You don’t even have to tell him what to do; his body answers every call from yours, pliant and submissive as you release his tie and push him down onto the velvet chaise and climb into his lap.

He feels your hands on his face, pulling his jaw toward you as your lips find his. He remembers his own hands, lifting them up to paw at your shoulders, your neck, your hair. Your tongue tangles with his, the wet, telltale sounds of open-mouthed kissing reverberating around the room. You hum into each motion, tongue rolling over his sloppily, and he likes it, he loves it, feeling your saliva in the corners of his mouth and the heat of your exhales in the back of his throat. He groans as you bite his bottom lip, his stomach tensing at the pleasure in the pain.

Underneath you, he pants helplessly as you explore his mouth. He shifts down to lie down flat, his feet sticking off the end of the chaise, but it doesn’t matter. It’s better than the floor, and he doesn’t have enough sense in his head to take you against the wall or his desk. Rather than logistics, Nile is more focused on how embarrassingly hard he is already and how you can almost certainly feel it through his straining pants. He doesn’t even know if you want to go any farther, suspects you don’t because _why would you_ —

You grind your hips against his, pressing your crotch against his own, and Nile moans loudly into your mouth. He desperately wishes the door was locked but has no wherewithal to stop you from touching him to get up and turn the deadbolt. He tries to keep quiet, to muffle his pathetic mewling against your lips, and hopes that it’ll be enough.

His hands drop to your hips, not guiding you but following your motions as you glide back and forth over his bulge. For a moment, with his eyes closed, he thinks of Marie; you’re roughly her height, and you feel like she did when she was 18, 19, 20, before they were married and childbearing changed her body in confusing and intoxicating ways. He missed her, missed how she tasted and smelled when she was pressed against him like this, fucking without a care, but he snaps back to reality when you reach for his belt buckle. He isn’t with Marie. He’s with you, and it’s good enough.

You release his mouth to pull back, to fiddle with his uniform’s buckles and zippers while he gasps for breath. He takes the opportunity to shrug off his jacket and unbutton his shirt while you wrestle off the ODM gear that he’s wearing for no reason, really. He hisses, feeling dizzy as you pull his pants down to his thighs, freeing his stiff cock against his lower stomach. You crawl over him on all fours, your ass pushed up in the air. He gets tunnel vision, everything distorted like he’s going to pass out, until your tongue touches the tip of his weeping cock.

Swirling your tongue around the head, you pull desperate moans from his throat that Nile has to bite his fist to dampen. He hasn’t had his cock sucked in so long, he almost forgot how mind-numbing it feels to be wrapped in someone’s mouth. Your ass tilts higher yet as you take more of him down your throat, his thighs twitching uncontrollably from the pleasure of your tongue dragging on his shaft. He hopes you’re not disappointed when he reaches the back of your throat, hopes you’re at least somewhat satisfied by your commander’s cock when you swallow around him.

Your head bobs up and down, coating him with your saliva as his eyes roll back into his skull. Bearings lost, Nile can’t stop from bucking his hips, meeting you in the middle so you gag around his cock. He whines pathetically as he loses himself in the moment, consumed with the thought of spilling down your throat while you swallow him whole. He feels the orgasm coming in the heat on his face, the twisting in his gut, the tightness in his balls. “I’m close—”

His warning is wasted as you take one final slurp before dropping him out of your mouth. Nile chokes on his own spit as his climax slips away, groaning and sputtering, “Please, no. Please don’t stop. I—”

When you climb off the chaise, he almost sobs despite the fact he knew this was coming. It had all been a cruel joke, he thinks, something you can hold over him the next time you want a day off. He should have known it was too good to be true; then you’re pulling off your top and kicking off your boots along with your pants, and his lungs fill with air again.

You lick your lips, looking down at him with desire in your eyes. “Where do you want me, Commander?”

Nile moans at the sound of his title on your lips, something you’ve said a thousand times before but never like that. But that’s right, he thinks, he is _your_ commander. You could have gone to the one of the other branches—you could have gone to the Scouts with that damned Smith—but you chose to become an MP when you earned the right to. You chose _him._

“Anywhere. I don’t care.”

He can barely think with the ghost of his ruined orgasm lingering in the air, but you help him strip down, his clothes landing in a pile with yours. He pulls you in with desperate hands as you lower yourself back onto him, clutching you closer as he helplessly dry humps against your legs. He can’t let you go again, not after what happened before. He aches for you, needs to feel you, needs you so badly that he’s not above begging for it.

His nails dig into your hips as he grinds against you, shamefully needy as you hover above him. “Please, _please, baby_. I need you so bad. Please, I want you to ride me.” He’s an absolute mess, dribbling precum at the thought of filling you with his cock, of feeling the embrace of a warm body around him after so, so many nights alone.

He accepts you hungrily when you lean down to kiss him again, your slick folds dragging over his throbbing shaft as you move. You swirl your hips over him, and he’s not sure if you’re prepping him or yourself, but it feels like righteousness and sin all at once. He’s so hard it hurts, his legs twitching under yours, ankles knocking against your feet over the edge of the chaise. You pull back just far enough to mumble against his lips, “Whatever you want, Commander.”

Nile whines as you line yourself up and inch down onto his cock, pulling out only to sink down further with each shallow thrust from above him. When you finally bottom out, you sit tall in his lap, back arched as you moan for him. His head thrashes at the sound, unable to handle the tension curling in his stomach at the sight of you on top of him, breasts bouncing as you start to grind down on his hips.

“Yes, oh god, yes,” he pants, squirming under you because you feel too good, too divine. Fuck, his hand is never going to be enough again, not after this. He can’t keep himself quiet, grunting and sobbing as he begins to thrust up into your soaking cunt.

“Desperate for me?” you taunt, reaching back behind your ass to toy with his balls. When he cries out in euphoria, you chuckle. “Such a needy little bitch.”

He thrusts harder, sharper, the insult going right to his cock, getting him off because you’re right. “I am,” he pants. “I’m a little bitch.” He can feel himself throbbing inside you, ready to spill at any moment. He’s not going to last.

You bring your hand to his face, pushing aside his sweaty bangs that are plastered to his forehead before kissing him again. When you lean forward, he palms one of your breasts, desperate to touch you, afraid he’ll never get another chance. He pounds into you as your lips lock together, and when you bring your hand down to caress your cheek, he snaps, releasing inside you before he knows what’s happening.

His chest heaves as he grinds out his high, pressing his thumb to your clit in tight little circles. He’d be mortified if you didn’t finish, but thankfully, you crumble and shake not long after, signaling your own climax before collapsing on top of him, your face buried in his chest.

Nile’s hands roam over your back as you both catch your breath, soothing over your soft, misty skin. He wants you to stay on top of him forever, wants to feel the weight of another person holding him down for as long as he possibly can before he’s alone again.

“That was…” he hums against the top of your head. “I really needed that. Thank you.”

Lifting your face from his chest, you plant your chin between his collarbones, drawing little circles dangerously close to his nipple with your pointer finger. You smile sleepily, exhausted but blissed out, and he hopes, satisfied. “I’ll be your distraction anytime.”


End file.
